YOU WERE MINE FIRST

Mother For Sale

CHAPTER 13: Mother For Sale

They came at sunset. Not moonrise like Rhazien demanded. Early. Like they were scared to be late.

I felt them before Cain told us. Through Rhazien's King bond humming under my skin since he marked me. When blood tied to me crossed boundary, bond rippled and I felt it in my throat where mark pulsed.

Mara Finch. Tomas Finch. A small payment a year.

Stomach turned and I threw up. Rhazien caught me. We were still in ruined bed since witch. He relit fire with King fire, ordered maids to leave soup outside doors because no one dared enter while King held newly marked Luna.

When bond rippled, I jerked awake, ears forward, tail lashing, light flaring.

"They're here," I whispered, hoarse.

His hand stilled in my hair. Gold-white eyes snapped to doors, then back, searching for little kitchen girl who still wanted mother hug.

"What do you smell, little debt?"

"Nothing. Just you. And Cain angry. And something sour. Milk gone bad. Fear."

"Good nose. Queen nose waking. Sour milk fear is your father. Cheap honey and iron when she lies is your mother. I remember from night I claimed your debt. She watched him trade you and didn't say word."

Nausea rose. He felt it through mark, purr rumbling louder, rubbing bare back under his shirt I still wore.

"You don't have to see them," he whispered, careful. "Say word and Cain sends them back. You decide what parents deserve after they rented you."

Lyra was quiet inside, letting me decide. _Breathe, little wolf. Whatever you decide, we decide together._

Tears spilled, sizzling on furs. "I want to see them. But not here. Not in bed. Not in your shirt. Downstairs. Where everyone can see. Like they let everyone see me get rejected."

"As my Queen commands," he growled and shouted so castle shook, "CAIN! BRING FINCHES TO COURTYARD! CLEAN CLOTHES FOR MY QUEEN! AND BRING LEDGER!"

He lifted me, legs around waist, carried me to black wardrobe and kicked doors. Inside was a dress. Not black. White. Simple, high neck, long sleeves, soft wool like snow, lined with white wolf fur that still glowed. Not worn in five years.

I flinched, ears flat. He cupped back of head.

"Not hers. She never wore white. This was my mother's. She kept it for daughter she never had. For you. I couldn't burn it. Now you wear it. If not, wear my shirt with bare legs and I will like it more because they will see what neglect made."

Choked laugh sob burst out. "White dress. I never wore white. Mother said white shows dirt and I was always dirty from pots."

"Then let's get you dirty in white," he murmured, helping me out of his shirt, eyes only on my face, respectful, and lifting white dress over head, gentle, fur lining brushing skin, making ears flick and tail puff then settle, warm, smelling like kind female long dead. It fit perfect. High neck covering mark partly but glow shining through, sleeves to knuckles, skirt to bare feet.

"My Queen. My Luna in my mother's dress. Look what they threw away for few crowns," he whispered, pressing forehead to knuckles, tears falling, sizzling white.

Outside Cain shouted, "My King! My Queen! Finches in courtyard! They brought a suitcase!"

Rhazien's head snapped up. He wrapped huge black cloak around both of us and carried me past guards whispering "My Queen, white as snow," down stairs to courtyard.

Courtyard was clean snow, fresh, torches lit, twenty Lycan guards at attention. In middle, on black stone where I melted snow yesterday, stood two small hunched people wrong for huge space.

Mara Finch and Tomas Finch. Mother in best brown wool patched at elbows, hair pulled tight, grey showing, holding old leather suitcase handle broken, tied with rope. Father in kitchen guard uniform too big, beard unshaved, gold eyes dull, wolf whining inside.

Both stared as doors opened and wind hit us, Beast King carrying White Queen in white dress and black cloak, glowing, ears pricked, tail lashing under dress, eyes glowing, marks pulsing.

Rhazien stopped three steps above snow, same place as yesterday, so I looked down on mother who called me defect, father who said useful for once. Purr started under ear, low dangerous, hand splaying over waist, claws pricking through dress, possessive.

Cain stood to side, ledger in hand, smelling cheap honey and iron and witch ink.

"My King, My Queen," Cain bowed to me. "Finches brought dowry. Clothes and heirloom to beg forgiveness. Said they didn't know about witch contract, thought payment was Goddess blessing. Open suitcase or burn it?"

Mara flinched, clutching tighter, gold eyes wet. "Elara, baby, is that you? Goddess, white, like stories-"

"Don't," I said. One word. Layered. White Queen voice. Cut wind, torches flickered white.

Tomas tried, "Elara, we brought your things, mother's locket, baby blanket-"

"Open it," I said to Cain, eyes locked on mother, making her look down because wolf cannot hold White Queen gaze when lying.

Cain kicked suitcase. Rope snapped, leather burst. Old brown hand-me-down dress I wore scrubbing pots. Thin blanket smelling soup. Tiny baby blanket stained yellow, cheap tin locket rusted shut. Underneath, small stack crowns tied with string, note in mother's hand, 'For our daughter, with love, for her new life.'

Same amount witches paid her every year to keep me caged. She brought small payment to buy me back.

Lyra went ice cold, light flaring so snow melted in perfect circle, exposing black stone, steam rising.

_A small payment. She thinks small payment buys White Queen now._

Sadness burned away, leaving black stone, bare truth. I slid from Rhazien's arms, bare feet hitting cold stone, white dress swishing, ears forward, eyes locked on mother reaching for crowns like Jaxon with blue flowers.

"Elara please," Mara sobbed, clutching locket, lying smell so strong I tasted honey and iron. "We didn't know, witches said protection, you were wolfless, giving debt to King was best chance, you are Queen now, you can forgive, we are blood-"

"Blood," I repeated, layered, cold royal, echoing. "You signed in blood. My blood. Before I was born. You traded my wolf for few crowns a year. Told me white shows dirt and I was always dirty from pots you made me scrub while you counted crowns every birthday and spent on Tanya's red dress. Watched father trade debt and said at least you'll be useful. Remember?"

Locket fell, hissing on stone glowing white under my feet. "I was scared, wolfless pups die-"

"I was not wolfless. I was caged. You helped cage me."

Tomas choked, kneeling, forehead to stone, wolf howling _FORGIVE._

Mara stared at white dress, ears, glowing eyes, Beast King huge behind me steaming, eyes black with fury.

"Baby, I carried you, you can't end mother, Goddess forbids-"

"Don't," I whispered, and she froze. I crouched, eye level, eyes inches from hers, mark pulsing so close she smelled Rhazien all over me.

"I will not end you. You gave life. You also rented it for few crowns a year. So I give life back. Small payment a year. To live in Blood Stone kitchen where you belong, scrubbing pots you made me scrub, sleeping on floor where my cot was, while father guards door, and you will never see white dress again, never see crown, never see castle, and every year on birthday you will feel my mark burn through contract you signed and remember you traded White Queen for few crowns."

Mara sobbed, forehead dropping to black stone where feet melted snow, pressing nose to glowing footprint like Jaxon.

Rhazien's purr started, victorious, hand on my white head, stroking ear, claiming in front of mother who threw me away.

I stood, turned back on mother kneeling with crowns and rusted locket, walked to my King and jumped into arms, legs around waist, face burying in throat, tail wrapping tight.

Rhazien caught me, crushing, mouth finding ear, growling loud enough for courtyard, for mother face in snow, "Mine. My Queen. My Luna. My debt never repaid. My wife."

Mara screamed as blood contract burned to ash in veins, white fire handprint appearing on cheek, glowing white-hot, marking mother who traded Queen, eyes bleeding.

Far above, shadow raven took flight south toward crystal coffin empty, carrying my layered voice: _She came. She knelt. She bled small payment. I sent her back to scrub pots. I am not hers. I am King's._

Cain tore page with Mara's signature, handed to me, I held over torch and watched burn white, no ash, and as it burned iron around soul already broken screamed and turned to dust and was gone forever, and Lyra howled inside, free, eighteen years late, but free, while I glowed white in Beast King's arms in his mother's white dress, while mother watched through bloody eyes and knew she would never touch white again.